2002-10-24


Bar Report 2:

At one point, a drunken homeless man approached us. Down the bridge of his nose was a stream of blood. In his hand he held a lid-less cup of coffee. It sploshed about on his hand.

Like Becca, the man had long curly brown hair. He took note of this and cackled in his Yosemite Sam voice, "I LOOK SORTA LIKE YOU!!!!HUT HUT HUT!!!"

Becca timidly inched her face in his direction and whispered coldly, "I'm not a guy."

Then, he whipped out a tattered old acoustic and began bellowing his drunken melodies amidst violent, discordant chaos. We sought sanctuary and fled for our lives in a pub.

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